


tap the glass

by sinequanon



Series: telling tales [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: The three of them have loved each other many times before, but how can there be a happy ending this time when the only one who remembers is asleep?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on multiple variations of Sleeping Beauty, and it's largely canon compliant through 3A.
> 
> Enjoy!

In many ways, Stiles's life began and ended when Scott was bitten by Peter Hale. It took a while for Stiles to notice, consumed as he was with helping Scott, but by the time they met in the hospital, Stiles had already discovered the identity of the alpha; he just didn't _know_ him until he saw him for the first time. Peter, mad with grief, didn't notice the flare of recognition in Stiles's eyes before Derek was upon him, and the moment was broken.

When they met again--when Peter gripped his wrist and offered him power--Stiles was the only one who felt the caress of the cold wind across the desert, the salt of the sea, the echo of countless lives together.

Stiles did the only thing he could do, faced with such a horrible choice, and turned Peter down.

Past Peters had courted him, pushed him, protected him. _This_ Peter was hollowed out and jagged. He was mysterious and brilliant and cunning. He had been hunted and still survived.

Stiles felt his choice like a knife, creating something jagged in him, too. It left him bleeding, but he couldn't regret it.

This Peter was out of reach, and there was nothing he could do to save him.

<> <>

It was a kindness, this death, but Stiles still shivered at the taste of ashes on his tongue as Derek killed his uncle.

The knife twisted, and Stiles kept bleeding.

<> <>

Jackson's aura was a confused and twisted thing; Stiles was not the least bit surprised when he became the kanima. Stiles protected what would be Peter's pack, his family.

Suddenly, Lydia was a new piece on the board, and then Peter was back. Stiles avoided the werewolf and his calculating gazes as much as possible.

Jackson died, only to be saved by Lydia.

Stiles tried not to feel jealous that true love would likely never save him.

<> <>

Down in the basement, Stiles tried not to think of how much easier it would be to let himself bleed out. He let himself get lost in the memories of firm hands and whispered words, only to come back to Chris Argent’s concerned eyes cataloging his wounds.

Stiles didn't tell Chris that the internal wounds were far deadlier than the ones the hunter could see.

He made Boyd and Erica promise to go home, but they didn't.

Stiles dreamed of them anyway.

<> <>

Stiles spent the next few months helping the Hale pack look for their wayward betas while doing his best to ignore his proximity to Peter and the memories that his presence stirred. The werewolf was witty, and cutting, and every once in awhile, he would pin Stiles with a considering look that gave the younger man shivers and would have Derek barking his name in annoyance.

The moment would pass, and every time, Stiles was torn between grief and relief.

It occurred to Stiles that maybe Peter didn't want to remember.

Actually, that was probably for the best.

<> <>

Stiles recognized the symbol from before, though he couldn't quite remember when he had seen it last. If he concentrated, he could almost see a face, shrouded in shadow, but the voice was distinctly British. Stiles didn't know who he was, yet, but maybe he could help Peter when Stiles was gone.

Stiles's heart lurched when he saw Deucalion (again) for the first time, and once more when the alpha turned curiously in his direction. Suddenly, all of the wolves were watching him, and he could do little but play the fool to distract them.

That night, he dreamed of three lovers, standing on a mountain with the sun at their backs.

The next night, he dreamed of Rome, of being alone, of blood spilling across the sand.

Night after night, he dreamed of himself, or Peter, or Deucalion; things that had been, and things that should have been.

There were far more happy memories than sad, and the difference seemed to be in the company.

Aiden and Ethan came to school and attached themselves to Lydia and Danny. Boyd and Erica were dropped off in front of Stiles's house, courtesy of Deucalion. Cora was given to Peter, not Derek.

When the darach took the guardians and Stiles felt like he was being swallowed up, smothering him in panic, he thought he felt the heat of one hand on his chest, and his hand on another, before the shock of Lydia's kiss brought him back to himself.

Stiles sacrificed himself to save his father, and drowned in all of the wrong memories.

They were mostly good memories, but he feared they wouldn't be enough to sustain him this time. In this life, Fate had given him two wise, shattered men, and Stiles didn't think he had the skills to put them back together.

His last thought before his jeep hit the tree was the fear that no one would ever try to find him


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles slept.

While Jennifer bent Beacon Hills to her whim, a young man laid in a glass coffin in a crumbling mansion far away. A handful of people devoted to the darach watched over the man, waiting for the time when the bonds to his soulmates might break, and they would be released from their task.

After five years, the bond remained but food was scarce, and those who had chosen to serve the dark druid learned their true fates: waste away slowly in the house or be torn to pieces by the feral creatures that lingered just outside the grounds.

By the sixth year, all but Stiles had perished.

And still, he slept.

<> <>

Beacon Hills was preparing for a wedding, and Jennifer Blake couldn't be more pleased. After years of effort, of twisting and planting memories, revenge would finally be hers. She thought of the poor boy wasting away in the wilderness, and smiled as Peter, then Deucalion, leaned in for a kiss.

The twins still watched her with wary eyes, but the rest were easily convinced to see the similarities: pale skin, dark hair, careful countenance, and disregard the rest. There were sleeping draughts to fog the mind and cloud the dreams, and subtle pushes of magic throughout the day.

(It had only grown easier after the Sheriff had gone, broken-hearted in the search for his son.)

She fed on the guilt and the uncertainty until the pack saw in her what they had once known in Stiles.

It was only a matter of time.

<> <>

Deucalion loved Jennifer, but there were times when he blinked just so and, for a moment, a different face appeared in place of hers.

More than once, he had caught the twins staring at him: Aiden, almost defiantly; Ethan, with a deep sorrow that the former alpha couldn't understand. Lydia had inexplicably started wearing plaid around the house, and Scott often found himself standing outside the former Sheriff's house for no reason at all.

Barely a week before the wedding, exhausted over endless preparations, Deucalion escaped into the forest for a quiet walk. He fell asleep under a big oak tree and dreamed of a young man that he had all too easily forgotten.

The young man was deathly pale, and he seemed to Deucalion to be shrinking into the darkness as the werewolf watched him. He gave a sad smile, and Duke felt his heart clench in response.

“Stiles?” he asked hesitantly. He’d never really talked to the younger man--they hadn't been close, and the human had disappeared years ago--but Stiles was watching him like he knew everything there was to know about the former alpha.

Duke inexplicably shivered in anticipation.

“I miss you.”

“I don't understand,” the wolf said, frowning.

“I know,” hesitant fingertips brushed his own, and Deucalion jerked as electricity jolted down his spine, leaving him breathless and disoriented. “I'm sorry.”

The world vanished.

<> <>

Deucalion woke with tears on his cheeks and an overwhelming urge to find his lost love. The tug towards Jennifer was still present, but it was almost buried now under other memories of real love and affection, not the false feelings that his almost-bride had somehow created.

He recalled all too clearly that Stiles seemed to be on the verge of death, and resolved to leave that very night to find him.

But first, he needed to find Peter.

<> <>

To Peter, Stiles represented a riddle that he'd never had the chance to solve, and that was the only reason that he agreed to go on Duke’s foolish quest.

It was only after the two wolves were alone on the road together that they realized that they'd never truly had any time to themselves since Jennifer had come into their lives.

When the alpha pack had first come to town, there had been fighting, which had given way to cheeky banter and lingering looks, and Peter had thought he had noticed a spark of interest and then…

Stiles had vanished.

Everyone had expressed concern, but, Peter now realized with growing shame, no one except for the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall had ever truly searched for him.

The rest of them had let Jennifer soothe their fears into nothingness.

Still, the idea that Jennifer was an evil witch who was somehow keeping their true love captive was a bit too saccharine for Peter’s taste.

(It was a coincidence, Peter thought, that the first time Duke touched him outside of Beacon Hills, he had felt an overwhelming urge to pull the other wolf into his arms and never let go. The new, desperate tugging underneath his breastbone luring him even further away from Beacon Hills was surely a coincidence as well.)

The two of them traveled for three nights before they came upon a once stately home, left to fall into ruin. Despite Peter's apprehension, Deucalion insisted they go inside.

“This is ridiculous,” Peter scoffed, but he still stepped into the decrepit home with his lover.

It was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

Guided by instinct, the wolves slowly moved through the house, ignoring threadbare furniture and emaciated corpses with an almost hypnotic focus.

The very last door was slightly ajar, and Deucalion found himself hesitant to step inside. Only Peter's hand resting reassuringly on his hip gave him the courage to push it open.

The room was bare except for a small bed and a glass coffin sitting upon it. Neither of the wolves needed to see inside the coffin to know the person who rested there.

“Touch him,” Duke whispered, and Peter found himself stumbling forward until his hands hovered above the coffin.

“What do I--” Peter broke off, uneasy.

“Touch him, Peter,” the other wolf urged.

Peter removed the lid, especially careful of the motionless young man inside the box, and leaned in. He couldn't say what drove him to do it, but it felt like lightning flashed through his veins the moment Peter's lips touched Stiles’s.

<> <>

Stiles was drowning. He was glad that he had gotten the chance to see Duke one last time before he was buried under the weight of past lives, even if it was in a dream. Even if he’d never truly had the chance to know either man in this life, he was grateful that they managed to find each other.

It was for the best; after all, what did Stiles have to offer men like them?

He was so tired of fighting back the tide of memories, of hoping that they would come for him and knowing that they had long forgotten that he’d ever existed. Better to let it all go, and find the peace that he had been searching for since that day in the hospital. He needed to stop the bleeding.

He searched his memories until he found one of his favorites and, holding it close, he let himself fall into blackness.

<> <>

Deucalion watched in breathless anticipation as Peter leaned in to kiss Stiles, and rushed forward when Peter jerked and blindly flung out an arm in his direction, the other gripping the coffin tightly enough to draw blood. Duke clasped Peter's hand in support, only to find himself leaning over the coffin as well, breath punched out of him as he saw the images that were flooding Peter's mind--always, the three of them together--until the pounding in his brain matched the beating of his heart and the darkness rose up to meet them.

<> <>

Stiles woke to warmth. It was too hard to open his eyes, but he thought he could hear breathing and he wondered who was with him.

“Stiles? Open your eyes, love. Can you do that for us?”

He couldn't, not at the moment, and slipped back into sleep instead.

<> <>

Stiles came awake the second time to fingers gently carding through his hair, others tracing lazy patterns onto his arm. He was still warm, sandwiched as he was between two werewolves. He stared into Peter's solemn face only inches from his own and said the first words that came to mind.

“Hello, again.”

“I want you to know that we are both very angry with you for not coming to us,” Peter said, fingers never stopping their movements. “You almost died, sweetheart, and that is unacceptable.”

Duke placed a kiss to the back of Stiles's neck and settled the human more snugly against him. “You never have been good at letting others care for you. After we dispose of Jennifer, we’re going to spend a lot of time talking about that.”

“But first,” Peter said, pushing closer into Stiles, “more rest.”

<> <>

Peter and Deucalion missed their wedding, but made up for it by thoroughly and enthusiastically mauling the woman who had deceived the pack and almost killed their soulmate.

It took time to undo all of the damage that Jennifer had wrought, but it gave the three men the time to become closer than they had ever been.

In the end, this life together became one of their favorites.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why" (Sonnet XIIII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
> 
> Next week: the next two chapters in the TW/Supernatural crossover, and another fic TBD.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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